


Haptics

by RavenclawGenius



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenclawGenius/pseuds/RavenclawGenius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stacie sleeps with too many of the other Bellas before she works out that she still hasn't slept with the right one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haptics

Stacie is an extremely tactile sort of girl. Touch is her favorite of all five senses, and even if a sixth exists, it doesn't change anything. Not for Stacie.

It isn't about the intimacy. Sure, she'll grant that a certain, basic measure of it is typically _required_ for the kind of touching that Stacie tends to favor, but that isn't why she seeks it out. Stacie isn't actively in search of romance, in her sexual exploits; she isn't looking for love, or a relationship, or usually even friends. Stacie just enjoys it.

Strictly in the literal sense, Stacie enjoys the _chemistry_ of it.

She likes the staggered release of adrenaline, and the way it powers her palms along the sweeping planes of her lover's body. She likes the way that chill bumps prickle along heated flesh in answer to a kiss, and she likes the way that her nipples tighten, pebbling beneath a particularly skillful pair of palms, or lips. She likes the way that sweat slickens the skin on the rise into passion, and the way it feels when it gathers at her fingertips. She likes the frantic, clawing high of the climax, and the sleepy, satisfied crash at the end.

She likes the subtle exchanges of _power,_ involved in touch, too. She likes knowing all the right ways to caress a person's body until it breaks apart at the seams, for her. She likes pressing kisses into sensitive, hidden nooks, and dusting her fingers through every dip of muscle she discovers that makes her partner weak. She likes feeling bodies writhe beneath her own in immediate effect to what she has _done to them,_ and she likes to make them writhe _more._ She likes that she can make a man beg for her, or swear, with the right kind of touch in just the perfect place, and she likes that she can make a woman purr for her, or whine greedily for Stacie's attention.

She isn't ashamed. Stacie's sexual impulses are more apparent than most people's, but that doesn't make them unnatural. Stacie just likes the feeling, and she likes to make other people feel it, too.

So, when Stacie first sleeps with a Bella, that plays a very big role in the reason for why she does it.

* * *

Chloe is a lot like Stacie.

She's different in a lot of ways, too, Stacie admits, but there's a certain understanding that reaches in between them that Stacie thinks is comforting.

Chloe is confident about her body in most of the ways that Stacie is confident in her own. There's no shame in baring flesh, for Chloe, and if someone wants to peek a little bit too hard at the soft curve of her breast or the damn near perfect swell of her ass, then the redhead is usually very happy to let them ogle at their leisure. Chloe loves being appreciated – either in the physical sense, or in any other kind of sense, really – and that ginger knows that she's hot shit. Chloe isn't embarrassed, even if she'll frequently let loose a deceitfully coy giggle, or color in the cheeks with a pleased, flattered little blush that might make a person think otherwise, and that kind of self-assurance is something that Stacie doesn't find often, in other people.

The way that Chloe feels is still something of a mystery, to Stacie – and it definitely isn't something that the two of them share in common – but everyone knows that the redhead's emotions are broad and complex, and always, always beautiful; Chloe is open with her affection, though, and also very tactile with it, and Stacie can appreciate that.

Still, she thinks it _is_ more about the intimacy, for Chloe, and that isn't always a good thing.

There is something _personal_ in a touch, for Chloe, and it isn't hard to tell. Stacie thinks that the redhead gives a little bit of love to everyone she meets, even just in passing, and when Chloe touches them, it's almost like she tears off a tiny fragment of her own heart and surrenders it over for them to keep; like Chloe needs to be sure that the person on the other end of her regard can feel the way that – at least in that moment – the redhead's heart only beats for them.

Chloe loves every person she's ever encountered in different respects and in varying degrees, and it shows in all the ways that Chloe offers herself to them. Stacie thinks that that's amazing and a little bit sweet, and it's a lot of what makes Chloe into who she is, but Stacie also has her concerns.

The redhead is kind and approachable and generous; she doesn't judge, and she is always prepared to be a source of comfort for anyone who Chloe thinks might need it. She is a caring friend, a supremely devoted partner – even if _her_ current partner happens to be in a particularly high rank of douche – and Stacie is willing to bet that Chloe Beale is an _extremely_ dedicated lover.

Stacie worries about her sometimes, though. Feeling genuine affection like that for so many people simply _begs_ for a broken heart, and Chloe's is so unguarded and tender, already. She really doesn't mind what Chloe does with her emotions, as long as Chloe knows better than to let herself get hurt – but Chloe really _doesn't_ know better, and Stacie isn't sure why she'd ever expected that Chloe would.

Tom is an asshat, and everyone knows it. Beca proclaims it loudly – and with increasing exasperation – at every given opportunity, and Tom offers the tiny DJ a lot of them. The guy is self-absorbed and shallow, and, frankly, he's never come close to being good enough for Chloe.

He takes advantage of the redhead's blind faith in him, and Chloe never asks Tom for a single thing in return. He treats her like a doormat, and Chloe adores him so much that she lets it happen with a deflated smile and an acquiescing nod, much like she'd done with Aubrey as her co-captain in Stacie's freshman year; Chloe lets Tom tell her what to do and how to behave, even when she disagrees, and the redhead obediently does as he asks.

Chloe genuinely, _deeply_ cares about him, but Tom rarely shares in Chloe's affection, if ever, and his eyes have a very strong tendency to wander. Stacie has suspected his infidelity for the better part of the last year, but she hasn't actually found any proof.

She doesn't really end up needing it, though.

* * *

Stacie doesn't often get to stake control over the living room television.

When Chloe or Beca are home, they have automatic authority – as captains – to overrule any and all TV decisions that they like. The Bellas might gripe about it, on occasion, but it's ultimately a house rule that all of the girls respect.

Chloe typically only exercises that right when puppies or small children are being abused on screen – Ashley (…Jessica?) has a fondness for cliché Lifetime movies, along with all of the usual drama that mandatorily comes paired with them – and, when Beca joins them in the living room, she hardly cares enough about whatever is playing to really bother with refusing the choice. Granted, Beca has a particular hatred for rom-coms, and will reject any of those movies if she feels that they lack too much in the _comedy_ portion of that genre, but it's rare. Sometimes Chloe will even overrule _Beca_ , and that's always a good laugh, for Stacie, too.

The point, the brunette considers, is that between ten girls – two of them with absolute veto power – Stacie doesn't regularly have possession of the remote.

Except on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Stacie prefers afternoon classes when most of the girls prefer mornings, and as a result, Stacie's normally alone in the house at this time of the day. Beca is the obvious exception – their captain does _not_ do well with mornings, as every one of the other Bellas would swiftly move to confirm – but she's been absent every Tuesday and Thursday since the start of the semester, from morning straight through until nine o'clock in the evening, leaving the big screen 'family' television available for Stacie's personal pleasure.

Stacie doesn't ask where she goes, even when she's curious. Beca doesn't respond well to even mildly invasive questions – _"I was out," Beca huffs when Flo asks, "I have a_ life _, dude. Just, like- back_ off. _Jesus," she hisses irritably_ – and Stacie likes to think that she knows better.

Instead, Stacie chooses to accept the gift of solitude that the universe deems fit to present her with for a couple of sacred hours, twice a week, without complaint. She likes to prop herself up on the sofa with a bowl of Lucky Charms and binge on all of the trashy, mostly baseless gossip that the E! Network has to offer her, liberally exploiting her temporary freedom to do so, and Stacie won't question the nameless deity who's decided that she deserves it.

Still, when Chloe enters the house mid-morning on a Thursday in late September, Stacie surrenders that small joy in a heartbeat.

She mutes the television rapidly upon spotting the redhead's tear-stained cheeks, and lifts her leg underneath of her to turn and face Chloe as she sinks into the couch at Stacie's right. The brunette's back presses into the arm of the sofa, and Stacie balances her bowl of cereal between her hand and the cap of her newly elevated knee, letting Chloe know that she has Stacie's undivided attention.

She waits a handful of seconds, because it's obvious that Chloe wants to talk, but the redhead never starts.

"Honey," she coos sweetly after a pause, "tell Mama Stacie what happened."

That's really all it takes. Chloe is one of the most candid people Stacie's ever met, and she theorizes – not for the first time – that part of Chloe _needs_ the release of emotion through speech; Stacie's never known the redhead to decline when given the chance to share, particularly not when there are feelings involved – and there are _always_ feelings involved, for Chloe.

"Tom," the redhead breathes wetly, and smears trembling fingers across irritated eyes, turning instantly into Stacie and promptly dropping red curls into the brunette's lap.

Her cereal jostles, just a little, but Stacie steadies it before it becomes a problem, and then tactfully decides to eliminate the risk of spillage, altogether. She stretches the bowl behind her and sets it on top of the small table at the end of the couch, and when she twists back around, Stacie hums in quiet encouragement as she tangles her fingers soothingly through Chloe's hair.

The redhead sighs a quiet noise of gratitude, before she sniffles softly and murmurs, "He was kissing another girl."

Stacie huffs, and offers an offended sort of grunt, but otherwise says nothing.

"It's fine," Chloe insists weakly. "I mean, it isn't, because– because why would he _do that?_ Like, why wouldn't he just _say something,_ you know?" Chloe shakes her head helplessly. "But it's mostly fine," she says again, even though Stacie thinks it's rather obvious that Chloe is only lying to herself.

Chloe is devastated, and that isn't fine at all.

"I just– I don't understand it. I gave him _everything_ ," Chloe swears, peering up from Stacie's lifted thigh with heartbroken, teary baby blues that shadow at the edges in earnest confusion. "I gave him everything, Stace," Chloe whispers softly, and sweeps another path of moisture from her cheek, pressed into the scratchy fabric of Stacie's jeans, "and it still wasn't enough."

"You gave him more than he ever deserved," Stacie pointedly scoffs, "and it isn't your fault that he's an ungrateful prick who can't appreciate you."

Chloe nods along in time to her words, but Stacie knows that they haven't actually made impact. The redhead is hurt and Chloe's pride is burning, and Stacie knows that it often requires more than a friendly pep talk to heal that kind of pain.

Still, Chloe is a lot like Stacie, and sometimes it's easier – at least for people like them – if that pain is tempered by a more… _tactile_ distraction.

"Chloe," she drawls, slow and warm. " _Baby,_ " she smiles – something teasing and affectionate – and the redhead offers a tired giggle in reply, "you're too _good_ for him. Too sweet," Stacie murmurs fondly, pulling at a strand of Chloe's flaming red curls before she drags it down to rest at Chloe's collarbone. "Too trusting," she says with a heavy sigh, fingers slipping off the ends of Chloe's hair to tap softly over top of the redhead's shattered heart.

Chloe hums a little in answer – partly in acknowledgement, but partly in something else, too – and Stacie recognizes the sound.

Stacie is an extremely tactile sort of girl, and she likes the way that she can make a body react beneath her; Stacie's had a lot of experience in mastering that particular art, and she's become pleasantly tuned to what those precious reactions most often _mean._

Frankly, this falls into Stacie's area of expertise; she knows what it sounds like when a woman is pleased by her touch, even when her intentions are (unusually) innocent, and that tiny little hum from Chloe's throat stirs something to life in the bottom of the brunette's stomach that is both heated and sharply familiar.

Stacie's never been very adept at ignoring that feeling, and it's a rare occasion when she deigns to try.

This isn't one of them.

"And you are definitely," she endures lowly, dropping several octaves in her voice as her fingertips glide smoothly down the plane of Chloe's chest, " _definitely,"_ she purrs as she feathers her touch across the rise of a clothed and padded breast, "too _hot_ for him."

Her fingers curl reflexively – and without hesitation – over top of the fleshy mound beneath her palm like it's muscle memory, and Chloe keens instantly. Stacie's eyebrows jump into her hairline in quick surprise, and her tongue swipes contemplatively across newly parted lips.

This isn't the first time that Stacie's touched Chloe like this; it's usually just for fun, and it's all playful, mostly. They both enjoy this brand of free and affably loving, physical attention, and it feels good to share that. Sometimes there's a flirty come on or two – sometimes more, when Stacie's gone a particularly long stretch sans orgasm – and it's just a thing that happens, sometimes.

It happens often when Stacie is drunk, or when Chloe is – it happens particularly frequently when they've _both_ indulged in the ever-present temptation of alcohol on this campus – and when they dance, every inch of Stacie's body will press into the redhead's own, recognizing Chloe as the kindred spirit that Stacie has always felt her to be.

Her arms will wind around Chloe's neck and slink through pretty red hair, all the way down the knots in Chloe's spine, and Chloe will lightly palm her ass or sometimes even squeeze it, if she's feeling especially handsy. She'll laugh – breathy and delighted – directly into Stacie's ear when the tall brunette moans her satisfied reply, brushing vibrating lips into the skin of Chloe's throat.

Nothing ever comes of it, though.

Chloe has been Tom's girl basically since Stacie's known her, and Chloe is loyal. The girl can flirt with the very best of them, and she can tease all she likes – and Chloe certainly _does_ like, Stacie knows firsthand– but Stacie thinks it would have torn Chloe's conscience to shreds if she'd ever even _considered_ betraying Tom like that.

But Tom is a cheating dickface, Stacie blinks in realization, and Chloe is reacting to Stacie's typical fondling like she hasn't been touched in _weeks_.

"Has he been neglecting you?" Stacie smiles her sudden sympathy. "Has he deprived you of your right to orgasm, sweetness?" She coos with a quiet chuckle, fusing her touch with a more insistent edge as she massages more purposefully into Chloe's breast.

Chloe tries to laugh, but a sharp hiss coincides with Stacie's actions against her body, instead.

"How long has it been since he touched you like this, Chlo?" Stacie wonders, thumb tenderly circling over the center of Chloe's breast in an effort to provoke her nipple, hidden somewhere beneath the clothing.

" _M-months,"_ Chloe stammers on a heated groan.

"Oh, baby," Stacie tuts her earnest disapproval, "that's such a shame. Your body is a legitimate _crime,"_ she swears, voice thick and words generously bathed in sugar, "and I am _more_ than happy to offer it _all_ of the satisfaction that your tool of an ex-boyfriend has taken to denying you."

Chloe blinks for a couple of moments in brief consideration – Stacie's spare palm inches beneath the cotton of Chloe's t-shirt during the pause, which likely only serves to extend it – before she shuffles upward to face Stacie fully.

Stacie's hands fall away as she moves, but Chloe's find new purpose.

The redhead fits her fingers under the hem of her own top, ripping it over her head in a motion so quick that even Stacie feels proud of it, and wide blue eyes find the brunette's grey as the fabric drops to carpet.

Stacie hums her pleasure at the view, trailing her gaze along the flat plane of Chloe's stomach and upward. Her journey catches at Chloe's pretty blue bra, breasts pushing against the material as Chloe softly pants, the skin there just beginning to flush. Stacie licks her lips in anticipation, the feeling igniting somewhere low in her gut and churning to breathe fire through every part of her body that's left. She slowly drags her eyes from Chloe's chest to fully appreciate the subtle tones of muscle in the redhead's arms, and she flits them briefly back downward to catalog the similarly toned muscle in Chloe's stomach, too.

"A legitimate _crime,"_ Stacie echoes and husks, a familiarly predatory smirk slinking at the corners of her lips.

Chloe laughs breathlessly, eyes brighter than normal, still, with remnants of betrayed tears, and she smiles slowly – slyly – before she teases, "And what are you going to do about it, Conrad?"

"Honey," Stacie purrs in swift reply, crawling up to her own knees in one, gracefully fluid motion to cradle the small of Chloe's back in her palm. She moves her mouth closer to Chloe's face, lips coasting across her skin, "I am so," pressing a kiss into the redhead's ticking jaw, " _so,"_ another, just beyond her cheek, "glad that you asked," she finishes, teeth nipping playfully at the lobe of Chloe's ear.

Chloe mewls – just softly, and almost like a kitten – and Stacie laughs a burning trail along Chloe's cheek down to her throat. She hovers, mouthing kisses into Chloe's flesh, largely because it doesn't require too much of Stacie's attention to continue doing it; Chloe's skin is warm and soft beneath her hands, and Stacie wants to keep at least a decent measure of focus to help her properly explore it.

She starts easy, fingertips stroking tenderly across the horizontal stretch of the redhead's back before she starts making her way up. She feels Chloe arch into her when Stacie's fingers tickle against all of her sensitive places, but it doesn't stop her. She maps the distance to Chloe's shoulder blades, gliding her touch in between them as Chloe's hair tries to impede her, but Stacie slips easily beneath it and follows Chloe's spine all the way up to her pretty, slender neck.

Stacie cradles the base of Chloe's skull in her palm, fingers diving into the wild flames of her hair. Her nails scratch softly at Chloe's scalp, and the redhead whimpers out a noise that is half made of a plea and half made of distress derived from pure sensory overload, after going so long untouched. Stacie's opposite palm rises to grab roughly into Chloe's hip, and the contrast of peaceful and brusque is enough to make Chloe gasp.

Stacie pushes against the back of her neck, just lightly, until Chloe's forehead drops obediently into her own. Stacie smirks her satisfaction into the redhead's waiting mouth, before offering Chloe the most seductive – and, honestly, most genuine – promise that Stacie's ever known how to make.

"I will do," she flutters a brief kiss into Chloe's lips, "absolutely," and another, " _anything,"_ and one more, "to this _gorgeous_ body," except one last kiss for good measure, "that you _want,_ Beale."

Chloe takes a couple of breaths – hot and heavy – before she crashes forward. Her mouth blazes across Stacie's in a blink, tongue burning a vicious trail through Stacie's lips to find its partner, and Chloe's fingers slip urgently into Stacie's dark hair. The brunette's hands pull tighter, harder, until Chloe's largely naked torso presses into Stacie's own, and Chloe breaks away from their kiss with a near-violent series of pants.

"Just touch me, Stace," she rasps through a plea.

And Stacie isn't actively in search of romance, in her sexual exploits; she isn't looking for love, or a relationship, or usually even friends – but Chloe is already her friend, and Stacie didn't actually need to feel the desperation in that kiss to know that Chloe is both aching and emotional.

Stacie can't heal Chloe's heart, but she can bring pleasure all _over_ that ginger's body, and – because she is Chloe; because she is tactile, like Stacie, and has been deprived of something so crucial to the tactile person's necessary and basic _function,_ the brunette considers with an irritable huff – Stacie thinks that's equally important.

She doesn't make Chloe wait; orgasms are good for the body – and, Stacie swears, purely good for the _soul –_ and the redhead has already been starved of them.

She slides her hand from Chloe's hip and tugs at the redhead's jeans until the button snaps apart. The fit is uncomfortable, at best, and the angle is awkward, but Stacie is nothing if not gifted in navigating around the constraints of various sexual positions, and she makes it work.

Fingers slip across swollen lips and dripping heat, and a sharp gasp dies in Chloe's throat. Her mouth drops kisses into Chloe's neck and shoulders, and the redhead's bra-clad chest pushes into Stacie's own when she times a particularly rough scrape of her teeth as two of her fingers sink directly into Chloe's tight, aching core.

"Stace," Chloe whimpers, fingers tumbling out from dark hair to clap frantically across the brunette's shoulders.

Stacie smiles warmly into Chloe's skin. She's turned on, no question, but she isn't that selfish; this is about Chloe, plain and simple. It's about easing Chloe's pain in the best way that Stacie knows how, and it's satisfying in another way just to _give_ Chloe this kind of long-awaited relief.

She doesn't try to sleep with her friends, but it happens on occasion, and, every now and then – when it's like this; when it's easy, and fond, and just a willing friend offering an orgasm to another friend in need – it can be nice.

And when Chloe's pupils blow wide like this – when her fingers tear so hard into Stacie's shoulders that she thinks her skin might break through the fabric of her own shirt – Stacie definitely thinks that it's nice.

"Just let it happen, gorgeous," she whispers fondly, moving to press a long, needed into Chloe's mouth that makes the redhead sigh in delight. "Don't worry about a thing," Stacie encourages, and flexes her fingers sharply upward until a moan rips a violent path on its way out from Chloe's chest.

It doesn't take long. Stacie would love to take credit, but she knows that Chloe's need has already been festering for weeks, and the redhead probably could have gotten off with a couple of rutting thrusts just against Stacie's thigh. The redhead's near-explosive next moan erupts against Stacie's mouth, hot breaths spilling like lava across the drying pink of her lips, and Chloe stills completely.

Stacie's fingers are firmly hugged by the reflexive tightening of Chloe's muscles, and Stacie presses comforting kisses into Chloe's cheeks and hair as she pants, long and hard.

She looks a little bit like a wreck – tear-ravaged and half clothed, hair a tousled mess with her jeans worked partly down her thighs and Stacie's palm buried tellingly in between them – but when Chloe's eyes flutter apart and she looks at Stacie with those pretty blue eyes, a dazzling smile inching across her lips, Stacie swears that Chloe's never looked more grateful in her life.

" _You,"_ Chloe tells her breathily, with an exhausted chuckle and a shake of her read curls, "can be my new best friend," she swears.

"I promise not to ever tell Beca that you said that," Stacie vows playfully.

Chloe's smile falters, just a little, before she nudges her nose tenderly into Stacie's, swallowing before insisting quietly, "No, really. Don't tell Beca."

Stacie gets the very distinct impression that Chloe is referring to this entire encounter between them, rather than just her comment, but she isn't bothered. Chloe isn't a notch in her bedpost, and the redhead doesn't qualify as one of the sexual conquests that Stacie would take pride in boasting of.

Chloe is her friend – a Bella; a sister – and Stacie would never do that to her.

"You're pretty hot when you come," Stacie tells her lecherously, instead.

"You're pretty hot when you're inside of me," Chloe winks, blue eyes flickering between her legs, where Stacie's palm still presses against her heat.

"Baby," Stacie purrs across her cheek, "you are more than welcome to use me as your rebound fuck any damn time you _want,"_ she leers playfully, and Chloe laughs tiredly as her forehead drops into Stacie's shoulder.

She frees her hand from Chloe's slick wealth of warmth in the quiet moments following. Chloe's emotions lure her into a second round of tears, not long after that, and Stacie helps Chloe to adjust her clothing before folding the sobbing redhead up in her arms. She unmutes the television to provide a distraction, her fingers combing through Chloe's hair – comforting and soft – and Chloe falls asleep with her cheek pressed warmly into Stacie's chest.


End file.
